


A Sum of Parts

by corvus_corvus



Series: IchiRuki Month 2018 [4]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Contemplative Ichigo, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Floral Fashion, Fluff, I finally let them have a happy ending, oh my god they were roommates, they were roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 21:24:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15849651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvus_corvus/pseuds/corvus_corvus
Summary: Ichigo watches her and finds a pattern where he never expects it: flowers.





	A Sum of Parts

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for IchiRuki Month 2018, Day 25: flowers. I did not research about flower meanings because I figure Rukia isn't choosing her clothes to have some thoughtful meaning, so any meaning you find there is unintentional.

Rukia is captivating.

It’s old news, really, but something about her has always drawn his attention despite his most valiant efforts to direct it elsewhere. Is it the confidence in her posture? Her dark eyes? The way she bosses him around? Whatever the reason, Ichigo watches her and finds a pattern where he never expects it: flowers. Not live blooms, but the flowers that cover at least half of Rukia’s girly clothes. There are messages in the floral elements that surround her; a code with no key until Ichigo starts taking notes in the small blue notebook in the right-hand drawer of his desk.

It goes like this:

On the days she breathes easy and smiles at the way he trips over his own feet (only because he is too distracted watching her pushing a piece of hair behind her ear), she wears the white shirt with sunflowers. She’ll tease him about how _he_ could pass for a sunflower with hair so bright, and Ichigo will laugh with her. These are good, peaceful days.

Purple socks with daisies adorn her ankles while she sits, staring into the distance. These days she does not laugh at any of his jokes, does not rise to any taunts, will barely even look at him. He tries to pick fights—insult her brother, critique her exaggerated acting, question what it is she is drawing—just to get some kind of reaction out of her, negative or otherwise. Nothing works. Ichigo hates these days and spends his time daydreaming of smiles and sunflowers. But when he glances over to her hunched shoulders, daydreaming doesn’t work either.

Next are the days when she is electric, furious, laser-focused on things like responsibility or right and wrong. Rukia is wearing a floral-patterned belt that she no doubt stole his sisters’ closet. Days like these are when Ichigo is told how to save lives means a commitment to saving all lives. The lectures on duty sometimes exhaust him, but the older he gets the more he appreciates the opportunity to hear what she has to say. To hear what she thinks underneath the tactful navigation born of years of diplomacy. Her fire is beautiful. Ichigo can’t get over the way his stomach flips when he gets to see behind that careful composure. Even when it ends with him suffering, he can’t help but love these days—love this fury—too.

Some days are the domain of the sundress with wildflowers along them hem. It is playful curiosity and an overflow of questions. Why are playgrounds only for children but parks for everyone? Who decided which books are considered classics? What does Ichigo think about this and that and _ugh_ , he never ever has to talk this much. His voice will be hoarse by the end of the day, though the fact that she wants to talk to _him_ when she could spend time with literally anyone else is more than enough of an ego boost to make it worth it.

The pajama bottoms with morning glories are rare, but always a bad sign. On these days, she refuses to go anywhere instead staying curled up in bed. He barely sees her at all. When Rukia thinks he’s out, Ichigo hears her cry and apologize to a long list of people. Some he recognizes, others— _Miyako, Kaien,_ and those are especially bad—are unfamiliar so all he can do is long to understand. Rukia pushes him away every time he offers food, water, comfort, anything, so he broods around town while his heart breaks. Such days make him dream of holding her tight, protecting her from the rain, crying with her while he watches her break. It’s awful. Ichigo is just glad these days are few and far between, or he doesn’t know how either of them could take it.

Then there are the days he thinks she might be in love. There’s something to be said about the way this tortures him, unsure of just who makes her so giddy. Sure she’s close with him, and she does certainly _get_ close to him when she’s wearing those jeans with roses embroidered down the side seam. But it could just as well be anyone with the way her smile beams at everyone she passes by, so happy is she on such days. Ichigo is never sure if the lingering touches on his shoulder or the way her hips brush against his side are intentional or coincidental, but he does know that the way she says Kaien’s name holds more emotion than he’s ever heard her use with his own name. _He’s not jealous,_ he tells himself, _how could he be jealous of some mystery guy he’s never even seen?_ Still, Ichigo melts when he allows himself the indulgence of imagining that she is choosing to stand so close to him simply because she likes him. He knows he is reading too much into her glances, her kind words, the fact that she chooses to live with him when she could have gotten another roommate by now.

He is reading to much into her floral fashion choices.

But wouldn’t it be nice?

Just when Ichigo thinks he has it together, patterns holding and his code-breaking proven useful for years, Rukia adds a new piece to the puzzle:

She explodes from the door and all but runs down the aisle in flurry of color and light. Ichigo can’t actually stifle the tears threatening to roll down his face, and he sees the same joy reflected in her starlight smile, so he feels a little better. Rukia is draped in a swath of vibrant fabric covered in chrysanthemums, more flowers tied up in her hair, bouquet in her hands. It’s a sight to behold, so Ichigo laughs while he cries and Rukia starts laughing with him. 

Ichigo takes note. These are the flowers for a day long in the making. These are the flowers for their wedding, finally, finally _theirs_ after years of denying feelings. These are the flowers for when she says, “I do.” These are the flowers for that stunning smile, that laugh, for seeing her stand on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck.

“Finally,” she says.

“Finally.”


End file.
